The Taste of Rain
by indignant mushroom
Summary: "Until today I've never even heard of rain, much less seen it, or heard it, or felt it," she extended her hands and caught fat drops of water in her hands. "Or tasted it. It tastes exquisite, Alistair. I've never tasted anything better." The Exile experiences her first thunderstorm. Alistair/Aeducan, somewhat one-sided. First fic published/wrote ever.


The Taste of Rain

She cut through Ostagar with purposeful strides, looking intimidating and regal and foreign. Alistair caught her climbing the steps out of the corner of his eyes, casually harassing the Circle mage without missing a beat. She stopped several feet away and crossed her arms, seeming more curious than impatient.

"You must be Alistair," she greeted as the mage stomped off. Her voice was rich and low. She extended a hand.

"I am, actually," Alistair took her hand and shook it. It was warm and calloused. He noted that she had particularly strong dexterous fingers. "Oh…you must be Duncan's newest recruit. He didn't mention your name, sorry."

"It's quite alright. I'm Thalia…formerly of House Aeducan, and Orzammar."

Alistair felt foolish after. Duncan had mentioned that the new recruit was from the dwarven city. An exile, left to wander the Deep Roads as her punishment. "I should have recognized you right away. I apologize."

"That's alright. No offense taken."

Alistair led the dwarf to Duncan and two other new recruits to brief them on their Joining preparations. Thalia didn't seem phased by the necessity of a trip to the Wilds. Considering she was, after all, a dwarf who lived near the Deep Roads, a few Chasind Wilders would probably seem like a welcome respite.

Supper came next, a thick stew with cheese and bread. Thalia sat with Jory and Daveth, clearly unimpressed with their company. Being a junior Warden, Alistair sat with the senior members by a roaring central fire, while Duncan held the honor of dining with the King. He figured he should be courteous and invite the others over to their fire for company and warmth.

"There's a storm coming in, we don't want you to come down with the sniffles before the battle, " he joked, trying to make them more comfortable. Thalia sat next to Alistair, her bowl empty. She had changed out of the rags she wore through the Deep Roads in favor for leather leggings and a cotton shirt. The laces were frayed and broken, leaving ample cleavage for the men to view. She no doubt gained the shirt from one of the many women that frequented the camp.

"There aren't many women in the Wardens, girl," remarked a gruff lad from the corner. He eyed her hungrily. "It'll be nice to have someone else do my washing for once." The other men laughed with him, keeping their eyes fixed on her. Alistair saw from his peripherals that she hadn't so much as flinched, but instead calmly set her bowl in the ground and took a sip of ale.

"And we won't have to eat any more of Edwin's poor excuse for stew anymore!" joined in another. Alistair sat awkwardly between the two, feeling incredibly guilty for encouraging the girl to sit with his companions. _It's like feeding a lady lamb to a den of hungry lions_, he thought, and reconsidered. _Or maybe to a den of baboons._

"And maybe ya can warm me after ya clean the dishes!" roared another. _Yes, definitely baboons_.

Thalia sat with her shoulders pulled back, her eyes heavily lidded and not amused. "I think not," she replied coolly, breaking apart her bread. "Maybe when this is done you will find yourself a nice whore, for that is no doubt what you seek, and that is not what I am." She stared at her abuser, chin held high. "No doubt there are some tolerable ones around here, I did see one who had all of her teeth earlier. She will stay for the night, and coo and cosset you as she was trained, but in the morn she will be gone with not only your coppers, but your silvers and sovereigns too, and mayhap with your seed in her belly. But it does not matter much, because by this time tomorrow I will be scavenging for your bones to return to your lady wife." She popped a piece of her bread into her mouth, not breaking eye contact with the man. The men across from her grew silent, muttering to each other. One went back to his soup.

Alistair decided to change the subject. "Do you want more?" he asked, waving his bowl around for emphasis. "That must have been the first meal you've had in days."

Thalia did not turn to him, but answered, "Yes, it was. You're correct, I haven't eaten decently since the day Duncan came to Orzammar."

"Well, I wouldn't say it's decent, but it's certainly better than nothing," he joked. Thalia smiled, and her green eyes focused on him in a moment. Alistair felt himself blush slightly; she was beautiful beyond dwarven standards, all dark olive skin and high cheekbones. He fumbled as he pulled the ladle out of the pot and served her more grey broth. He tried to not stare at her breasts as he hovered over her with the bowl.

After cleaning up, Alistair left the fire to help Thalia pitch a tent away from the group of rowdy men, lest they get too curious. He gently made his way through the army of tents and campfires, smiling as his friends greeted him. The sun was hidden now, replaced with a thick grey cloud that was no doubt filled with water to rain down on them. It was quite windy; even with the sound of thousands of conversations around him Alistair could still hear the flapping of the tent canvas against the wind, supports creaking as they were pushed and pulled. He arrived to Thalia's camp to find her tent a mess of ropes and poles on the ground and her things gone.

"Er, Thalia?" He prodded the canvas with his boot. She seemed to be nowhere near the camp. He hoped that she didn't desert them last minute, she didn't seem like the kind of woman who would take advantage of a situation like this and then leave. He noticed a messenger nearby. "Excuse me," he asked the skittish elf, "Do you know where the Lady dwarf is?"

The smaller man looked hesitant to answer. "M'lady struggled with her tent, ser, and went to set camp near the ruins."

"Ah," Alistair looked skeptically at the tent. "I suppose she is too short to get the poles in place—but don't tell her I said that!" He flashed a look at the messenger, who shook his head quickly and ran off. The Warden shrugged and gathered up the tent. The ruins were far off from the main camp, a half-mile walk through old buildings and up hills. An old tower collapsed from the main structure and sat on its side, broken, hollow, and safe from the elements. Alistair supposed that she felt more at home surrounded by the stone rather than a thick canvas. Small shrubbery had grown over and around the stone but the top—or what had once been the top—sat open to the elements. Inside, Thalia seemed to be leaking smoke from her nostrils.

Alistair founds out quite literally that she was leaking smoke from her nostrils, the source coming from a long stemmed pipe that smelled deliciously of honey and tobacco. The dwarf let the smoke sit in her mouth, gently pushing it out with her tongue and sucking it back up through her nose. Alistair found it rather intimidating.

"You forgot your tent, I figured I would bring it up to you so we can set it up." He dropped the canvas on the ground. The tower was tall enough for him to stand in, and the new recruit had set herself up nicely above ground level, perched on a flat space of stone with her sleeping roll. A tiny fire flickered next to clean bones of some sort of animal. "You've been busy, haven't you?" he commented, reaching for the poles. Thalia eyed him as she puffed on her pipe. He looked at her expectantly.

"Oh, don't worry, I can do this on my own. No need to rush in to help or anything," he teased, slamming the pole inside a crevice. A sliver of wood shaved off against the edge. "If you could hand me the, uh—oh, thank you."

Thalia handed him the rope, which he hung across the opening of the tower and tied off on a large branch from a nearby tree. He flung the canvas over and weighted the edges down with spare rubble. "There," he dusted off his hands. His voice echoed through the empty tower. "That should keep you warm, and dry from the rain. We wouldn't want you to melt or anything."

"Rain?" she asked, her accent dental and melodic. "What sort of thing can melt the flesh off of bones?"

Alistair let out a burst of laughter. "No, no, you don't actually melt in the rain. You just get—wait, you don't know what rain is, do you?" He looked at her quizzically. Thalia shook her head, smoke swirling around her shoulders. She had carefully cut the sleeves shorter so that they showed off her arms. Alistair had no doubt that if things had gotten ugly at supper she could have snapped some of her assailants clean in two.

"Oh. Well, it's water, and it falls from the sky." He wiggled his fingers in a downwards motion for emphasis. Thalia still looked confused. "From clouds?" he offered. She cocked her head. He noticed that her breasts were still clearly visible from her shirt. He shuffled uncomfortably; it had been a long time since he'd ever come close to seeing a woman, and now there was a particularly attractive one casually presenting herself to him.

"Is that why there's no blasted sun out? I wondered if that thing ever went away." She tapped the bowl of her pipe gently on a rock. Alistair laughed again and found the courtesy to force his eyes elsewhere.

"Yes, it goes away. At night, but also when it rains or snows from the clouds. That's what those big fluffy grey things are—clouds."

Thalia looked doubtful. "In Orzammar our water came from aquifers, and underground rivers and lakes. It trickled down through the rock," She lit her pipe again and sucked on its stem. "And our light came from torches, oil and fire; and from the lyrium stone. And it never burned our eyes and skin." The lady dwarf tasted the smoke with her tongue and blew circles of dense smoke into the air. Alistair looked at her; she did have a slight pinkish tone to her shoulders and chest from where the sun beat down on her.

"Then how are you so tan?" He didn't even try to stop it as the question tumbled from his mouth, but like most of his stupid questions it made him wince internally. Thalia's red lips opened into a crescent and she chuckled.

"My mother used to tell me that when I was born I was fashioned from the darkest stone. She said it's what gives me my strength. Where I come from, we make our ceilings with black rock because it is the strongest."

"That's marvelous," he said, truthfully. He was always a fan of old lore. "Uh, well, I best get going and let you get some sleep. Big day tomorrow and all." He gave her a cheerful smile. She smiled back, her eyes shining. Alistair felt a creep in his chest, warm and fluttery. He nodded and fumbled for his way out.

"Stay warm, Warden," she called after him, but Alistair was already gone

The rain hit hard against his tent, like small pebbles raining from the sky. Alistair opened one eye and groaned. The sky was roaring with thunder and the wind threatened to rip his tent from the ground. He rolled over in his furs and buried his head into them. They didn't do much to dull the sound. Sighing, he pulled on his boots and one of his loose cotton shirts. He bundled up his furs, threw a wax-coated leather cloak on, and stepped out of his tent.

Outside the storm was worse than it sounded, pounding against the ruins of Ostagar ferociously. All of the fires were out, the men asleep and the patrols huddled underneath available trees. _I wonder if Thalia is alright_, he thought as he made his way to her tower. No doubt she would be cold, the storm was worse than he expected and she only had one wool blanket. _I should have brought some of my furs up to her. _The Warden had to be careful with his footing, else he step wrong and slip on the rivulets of water and mud on the slippery stonework. The occasional lightning lit up the area well enough to find his way.

He reached the dilapidated tower soon enough, despite the weather's best efforts to hinder him. Thalia had apparently started a fire during the night, as Alistair could see a warm glow coming from behind her canvas. "Thalia!" he practically shouted over the wind, "It's me, Alistair. I've got blankets for you." He pulled back the canvas as far as he dared and slid in. It was empty, from what he could see; her bedroll lay empty and her fire nearly dead. He set the furs down and looked around. Her clothes sat near the fire on flat rock, wet in some parts, dry in others. _She must have been caught in the storm_, he concluded. _But what is she wearing if her clothes are here? _He hardly could image that the dwarf was prancing around in the night praying to her gods like the Dalish were rumored to do. Alistair shook his head and returned outside.

"Thalia! Are you out here?" He stumbled over a rock and nearly landed in a puddle. "Blast this rain," he muttered, and swore, and kicked at the water in defiance. He huddled tightly under his cloak, grateful for its layers of wool and fur. He wandered to the bottom of the tower, beginning to worry about his new infatuation.

It did not take him long to find her. At first Alistair thought she was naked, but upon closer inspection he noticed she was wearing a large nightshirt that clung to her curves. _Just what I need_, he thought bitterly. "Thalia," he shouted, "What in Andraste's name are you doing out here?" He strode up to her. _I should have brought another cloak_, he chided himself.

The young woman sat on a rock, eyes closed with a peculiar expression of wonder and enjoyment on her face. Her teeth rattled slightly and she looked to be shivering. "Until today I've never even heard of rain, much less seen it, or heard it, or felt it," she extended her hands and caught fat drops of water in her palms. "Or tasted it. It tastes exquisite, Alistair. I've never tasted anything better." She opened her mouth wide to reveal perfect rows of teeth and a pink tongue that darted out to catch the falling rain.

"You're going to catch a cold out here Thalia, we should get back—" Alistair started towards her and grabbed her gently by the shoulder. Earlier she had appeared to be intimidating and reserved, and he was regretful that he was spoiling her more endearing and adventurous side.

"You must dance with me," she ushered in her thick accent. She spun and grabbed the young man by the wrists. "Please, Alistair, dance. Then I will gladly go back and never come back out, if that is what you wish." Her eyes were wide, and twinkling. He stared down at her and raised his eyebrows.

"Fine, one dance, and then back to the tower you go, never to leave again," Alistair said with finality. He tried his best not to break character and smile, and failed. He pulled his lips back. "But you best keep up."

He took her hands and pulled her back into a smooth rhythm, one foot behind the other, to the left, forwards, to the right—his hands guiding her through the steps. Her laughter pierced through the thunder.

"The sky is waging war on itself!" she declared, looking up. Alistair took the moment to throw her back and lowered her into a dip. "And I think the cloud to the left is winning!" He looked up with her and saw to his right a large cloud, bright with lightning. It lit the surrounding area in romantic purples and blues, and illuminated Thalia's face in soft contours and curves. Later in life when Alistair recollected his memories, he would say that this moment was when he first fell in love with his lady Warden.

The lightning ended and he pulled her up, her small body easily bending to his strength. He tossed her out, extending their arms and sending Thalia whirling in a graceful spin. She was quite light on her feet.

She came careening back into him, folding herself into his arms and into his chest, breathing heavily. Alistair looked at her and gently wiped the hair from her face. "You're going to get sick," he chuckled softly. "It will rain again soon, the Maker permits, and we can dance again."

Thalia untangled herself from him, much to his disappointment, and led him back to the tower. Her hips swayed, wide and welcoming, and Alistair felt bad for fixating on her ample bottom. _Thank the Maker it's cold out_, he thought. Her wet shirt clung to her butt as it moved. He also noted the curve of her back, her tiny waist, the muscles in her shoulders and arms. And even though she held herself proudly and confidently, Alistair found it amusing that the top of her head met the middle of his sternum.

When they huddled under the canvas and into the tower, Alistair noticed that they were still holding hands. He didn't make a pretense of letting go any time soon, either.

The fire had all but died while they were gone and Alistair busied himself with bring it back into the world of the living. It didn't take long before it sparked into life and roared again, lighting up the cave in a calm warm light that contrasted to their lightning dance. Thalia was shivering, perched on her rock in her wet nightshirt. Her thighs, muscled and thick, were pulled up to her chest, but not enough for Alistair to miss the outline of her breasts. _Very perky_, he noted, stirring the fire. He could vaguely see the outline of her nipples, round and light under her shirt. He had half a mind to drop his stick and return to the cold rain for a good while_. I'm not a lecher like the other men. And she isn't some whore to be stared at like a piece of meat_, he scolded himself, cursing under his breath. Thalia noticed.

"Do I upset you, Warden?" she queried, lowering her lugs tauntingly. A smile spread across her lips, defined and dangerous.

"Er, no, not at all," he replied quickly, perhaps _too_ quickly. "You should, uh, really get out of those clothes or else you'll never get warm." He tried to cover for himself, but again his mouth was faster than his mind. He had dug himself into a verbal grave. He recovered quickly. "I brought some furs for you, and you can have my shirt while yours dries."

Alistair stood up and turned around to take off his shirt. He was suddenly quite aware of the ache in his muscles and cracked a few bones in relief. Behind him he heard the wet slap of cotton on rock, Thalia laying out her shirt to dry. He held his arm out and closed his eyes. And waited.

"Alistair," Thalia spoke his name and a chill went up his spine. "You're facing the wrong way." She was giggling behind him, a low sound, like a slow purr. The young Warden slowly opened his eyes and turned around.

To his relief, and slight disappointment, Thalia wrapped in herself furs by the fire. She slipped an arm out of her pile and caught the shirt as it was thrown to her. Alistair turned around and waited patiently as she slipped it on. "Are you….alright?" he asked tentatively.

"Yes, Alistair, I am fine," Thalia answered. He turned around again. The cotton shirt was a little too big for her frame as it fell to one side, exposing a sharp shoulder. Thalia smiled patiently as Alistair's eyes wandered to her collarbones, and then to her face. He returned her smile.

"I best get going," he admitted sadly, not wishing to leave at all. "It's late, and we both need sleep for tomorrow." He grabbed his cloak and threw it over his shoulders, walking for the makeshift door.

"Good night, Alistair," he heard Thalia call softly. The Warden shifted and moved his head to look at her once more. She was already huddled in her furs, eyes full of sleep and contentment.

Years later Alistair confessed to his love that when he returned her smile and good night wishes, what he really wanted to say, and what he _meant_ from the night onwards, was _I love you._

"Good night, Thalia. And stay warm."


End file.
